


Not for the coffee

by RobinWritesChirps



Category: The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Apotheosis, Cunnilingus, F/M, First Dates, Fluff and Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:41:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23687836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinWritesChirps/pseuds/RobinWritesChirps
Summary: Asking people out on their workplace is bad and wrong and Paul would never dream of doing that, ever, in his life. Ted, though, has much less squalms and Emma as it turns out, even less. Paul and Emma’s first date, includes a little fun :)No apotheosis AU where no one fucking dies.
Relationships: Paul Matthews/Emma Perkins
Comments: 26
Kudos: 71





	Not for the coffee

Ted pestered him the entire way to Beanie's.

He had invited himself, of course, cornered Paul before he could make a quick break on his own. The trip to grab a cup of coffee, maybe dream a little depending on who served it, had become a mission to sell Ted’s good qualities to the hot barista − a mission Paul had neither agreed to or approved of.

"Just mention casually how much I work out, alright?"

Paul gave him a side glance.

"Do you work out?"

" _No_ ," Ted said self-evidently. "Jesus, Paul, is this an interrogation? Can't you just be a bro?"

He just wanted coffee. He just wanted some damn god-awful black coffee he would down in one go and forget about. Ted was rambling on but he had started to tune him out. By the time they had reached Beanie's, he had almost forgotten he wasn't on his own. _She_ was there, he saw through the window. He could have stopped there and stared like a creep but Ted bumped into him and Paul was reminded mildly painfully that he had company. Some terrible company.

"Come on, Paul, we don't have all day, I need to score! I've been having blue balls since Ch..."

But he stopped himself before finishing whatever he was going to say. Breathing deeply, he put both hands on Paul's shoulders and stared insistently.

"Just do it, alright Paul? I'll owe you one."

Paul had absolutely no interest in any favor Ted might be willing to repay. He didn't even want to imagine them.

"I'm not gonna wingman you, Ted," he said simply, finally.

It was a shock and outrage. Ted gasped, glaring.

"You're a dick, Paul! Can't you help a guy out? I'm your best friend!"

"Bill's my best friend."

He took a side step around Ted to walk into Beanie's but the door immediately reopened behind him. He sighed and made his way to the queue without looking back.

"Oh, fuck, she's not here anyway. All that way for nothing."

Paul frowned. She was here alright. Relief filled him at the thought that Ted's crush wouldn't be any competition on him before he remembered that this made absolutely no difference, considering he had never so much as learned the name of the object of his own infatuation or talked to her beyond his order and the weather. If the past was any indication, Ted or no Ted, what came between him and the barista was his incapacity to utter any coherent conversation in her presence. Also the fact that hitting on people on their workplace was gross. He would never do that, he couldn't. But fuck if he didn't wish he was a braver, grosser man sometimes. Maybe Ted knew something after all. Glancing at him, he found his eyes fixed on him suspiciously. He averted them at once.

"Hey, what'll it be?"

Paul held his hands to the counter to stop himself from doing anything reckless and stupid with them and tried to smile like a normal person.

"Just a cup of black coffee, please."

He dropped a fiver in the tip jar as soon as she had her back turned. There was a certain sluggishness about her actions, like she was here but mostly somewhere else. He often wondered where that was. And hoped against all logic that, if she ever went there, he'd be at her side the whole way. He didn't even know her damn name.

"Here you go, that'll be 3 dollars."

He slid the money to her, not daring to put it in her hand for fear it'd touch his. She smiled at him politely and nodded at Ted behind for his order.

"I'll have a mocha frapp'," he said, leaning an elbow on the counter in what likely wanted itself a seductive move, "And a date on Friday. Are you free?"

She grimaced so acutely Paul feared her face would stay stuck that way forever.

"Eww," she said loudly. "I've suddenly never been less free. Gross, dude."

She started on his frappuccino with what sounded like a groan of disgust. Paul's heart had stopped in his chest.

"No no no," Ted hurried to add. "Not with me! With my best buddy Paul right here."

She glanced back, her beautiful brows knit in suspicion.

"That's not true!" Paul immediately rambled without knowing why. "I would never... He's just drunk or on drugs or something, don't listen to him!"

She was done with the mocha frapp but kept it in her hand as she leaned on the counter and looked back and forth between the two of them. Finally her eyes stopped on him and Paul gulped thickly.

" _He_ is asking me out for _you_? What is this, kindergarten?"

"It's not anything!" Paul hated to realize that this was the most he had ever spoken to her and it might as well be the last. He didn't know if he could ever come back here. "I didn't ask him anything, I don't even know him. I... _Ted, you're a dick._ "

They were the last ones in line. Small mercies, no one to witness this disaster, no one beside the one person who mattered. Slowly, Emma handed the drink to Ted without so much as looking at him. She would only stare at Paul. Her face was a mystery. A gorgeous mystery. He had wanted to be seen of her for a while, but now that he was, he would have much rather remained unthreateningly anonymous.

"Yeah, you're not that kinda guy at all, are you?" She didn't wait for his answer. "You don't just ask people out when they're working cause you know it's rude and obnoxious, right?"

Paul felt pale and weak all of a sudden. She had just been his little bit of dreaming, the one quirky fantasy in an otherwise dull life.

"Say, are you free on Friday?" She asked like she would ask his order or if he wanted to pay by cash or card.

"What?" He blurted out.

" _What?!_ " Ted echoed.

A little smile broke on her face. She was biting her lip in a teasing way, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

"Erm..."

Was this a test? Would he have to prove his non-creepy ways and gallantly refuse the oh so tempting offer?

"Paul, what the fuck, say yes!" Ted hissed, nudging his ribs sharply.

"What... erm, what about the... workplace and respecting women... invasive seduction methods..."

" _I'm_ the one asking _you_ ," she said with a little shrug. She snatched the cup from his hands and quickly scribbled on it before handing it back to him. "Here. If my boss catches me, I'm fired. Go."

Paul couldn't seem to acknowledge what had happened. He kept doubting it and found himself checking the now empty paper cup a hundred times that morning. Surely, he had invented it out of his own enraptured mind and made it a believable fantasy. Every time, the messy sharpied figures of Emma's phone number were staring back at him clear as day. Emma. Her name was Emma.

He added her that night after hours of inner debate. She must have gotten a notification because, before he could spend another few hours at finding the words that would dupe her into believing he wasn't as dull as he looked, she messaged him first.

_emma: you pick where we go_

_emma: we're splitting so pick your most 10 dollar max place_

_emma: but if you ask me to have coffee somewhere I'll kill you_

Her icon was a cannabis leaf.

_Paul: Not coffee then, noted :-)_

She didn't reply. He said nothing for fear of making himself an idiot, if he already hadn't. Friday was three days away. That was a lot of time for her to change her mind. It was also a little bit of time to learn to know each other.

She had messaged him by the next morning and Paul then felt like he knew her even less than before. He looked at the picture of the dog eating a strawberry for several minutes before shaking himself out of it.

_Paul: Cute!_

_emma: right?_

_Paul: Very cute. Love it._

Paul rarely ate out, a practical simpler lifestyle of making things at home, even when the extend of the making was as often as not pushing buttons on the microwave. Still, he had to resort to casually asking around the break room.

"Somewhere to eat out?" Charlotte repeated, dazed. She had just been back from a week's vacation and was even more out of it than usual. "Oh, I wish Sam took me out more often…"

Ted, who had been in one of his unpredictable excellent moods today, gave Paul a smug wolfish grin.

"Eat out, am I right?"

"I don’t know what you mean, Ted."

It was Bill who suggested him a cheap diner in town worth ten times every dollar spent and Paul thanked him graciously. Something casual so as not to give too committed an impression, something cheap to fit her request. Something good so that, if she didn’t enjoy the company, at least she would the food. He wondered if she was a foodie. He wondered what her hobbies were, her quirks, her passions. He wondered if he would get to know all of that some day.

_emma: pick me up after work at 8 tomorrow?_

He thought about it. The proper way was supposedly to offer to drive, of course. She had asked, but then she still might feel more safe in her own car. Did she intend to drink? He had never been one to, not typically. Maybe she was asking him to drive to ensure he wouldn’t drink at all. Did she trust him? Did she… His phone lit up with another text just after the first.

_emma: is friday still okay or you have other big plans?_

He smiled, trying to picture in his mind her taunting smirk. She could be so rude, no matter if the other person was a paying customer. Nothing seemed to scare her and certainly not the thought of her manager’s retribution. He liked how bold she was, one of the only things he knew about her past the beauty.

_Paul: Friday night sounds great :-)_

He paid a visit to Beanie’s on Friday morning. He had no intention on bothering her with anything, no more than he already had intruded upon her, but at his sight Emma gave him a smile and he immediately stopped feeling like a bother. They said nothing special to one another, just a wink when she handed him the coffee and a "See you later" to replace the usual courtesies, but enough to fuel Paul’s good cheer for the rest of the day. She sent him a meme on her lunchbreak, he replied with something funny, smiled at his screen.

He realized he had never seen her out of her uniform the moment he saw her waiting for him on the curb in front of Beanie’s. First smitten by the sight, he was then relieved to have worn something casual too, nothing clashing. She was wearing ripped black jeans, some t-shirt with a logo he didn’t recognize and a worn out jacket. She was beautiful. Her hair was down − he had never seen that either. He hoped he would see much more of it.

"Hey," she said, climbing into the car before he could get out to open the door to her. "You’re punctual."

He smiled in corner, glancing at her as he pulled back into traffic.

"So are you."

She huffed derisively. Leaning back into the seat next to him, she made herself comfortable.

"Trust me," she said. "I’m _not_. Not usually."

She said nothing more but their eyes met in the rearview mirror and they smiled at each other. Brown eyes, something clever in her gaze, warm despite everything else being snappy and rough around the edges and possibly to the core. When someone cut him off, she let out a curse and gestured rudely and Paul thought he had never liked her more.

In the excitement and anticipation of having a date with Emma, he had forgotten that he would in fact need to spend a date with her, up to a few hours and infinite occasions to make a fool of himself as they spent the evening together. The punch of anxiety was promptly soothed, however, the very moment Emma crossed his eyes and smiled at him as he opened for her the door to the diner.

"You work for that office thing in the center, right? Over the corner from Beanie’s?"

He nodded. His job was boring, though every job was boring these days. Working for passion was no longer a thing of the present. He doubted that was Emma, either.

"And you work at a coffee shop…"

She shrugged.

"It pays the bills," she said. "Like, barely and it sure as fuck doesn’t cover the pain in my ass of having to work there six days a week but fuck me, am I right?"

He chuckled awkwardly and tried to hide it with a sip of his can of Pepsi, but he swallowed it wrong and made himself a lot more ridiculous as she noticed and bit her lip to hide her smirk.

"I, erm, I go to college," she offered as a distraction from his unease, for which Paul was beyond grateful. "Community college, here in Hatchetfield. I’m supporting myself."

That was a door leading to more personal matters but Paul wasn’t quite certain Emma wanted it pried open. He opted for a safer, easier middle.

"What do you study?"

"Botany."

He nodded. In his chest, his heart was running a little fast, not quite enough to be panic or even anxiety, but not quiet either.

"I wanna have a pot farm."

The can, thankfully, was safely on the table and far from his mouth, for he might have spat out its content this time so startled he was at her bluntness.

"Oh… Erm… I’ve never smoked," he whispered the next word for fear the waiter nearby might hear, " _pot_ in my life."

She looked at him with a satisfied grin, like this was all a joke she had landed perfectly but there was no joke to be had here and he thought he could recognize that she was in earnest.

"Well, we’ll change that some day," she said and stole one of his fries from his plate.

The date went just about as fine as dates went in Paul’s experience. The conversation went easier with every passing moment, thank goodness, gradually smoother and bolder as they found their footing together. She did a little more talking than him but never covered what he had to say. For the first time, Paul felt seen and listened to when he talked, no matter what dull mundanities came out of his mouth. He loved fantasy, she loved sci-fi. She hated sitcoms, he hated musicals. Minutes slipped into hours and the night went on. They grabbed a second portion of fries which they shared. He got another Pepsi, she got a beer. Her smiles were softer now, perhaps more sincere. Her hand was on the table next to his but as she never made a move to hold it, neither did he.

"This beer is crap," she said after gulping down the last sip of it. "Do you wanna get something better at my place?"

Paul wouldn’t have known good beer from cat piss, but he was fine with whatever Emma would ask of him tonight. The drive back to her place was quiet, sparse conversation and most of it a simple exchange of directions. She yawned once but caught herself and huffed out comfortably, stretched her legs. When they reached the − shady, short and half rundown − building, she did wait for Paul to open the car door and showed him the way up the three flights of creaking stairs.

She walked into her apartment like at the end of an extra hard day's work, kicking off her shoes that went flying god knew where, shrugging off her jacket on the couch. Paul looked around, trying to find a place to put down his coat but every part of the studio seemed to be cluttered and messy. He pursed his lips, realizing once more how many aspects of Emma's life had been entirely unknown to him up until this point. At least, everything about this place screamed of someone who lived alone. That was something.

"Hey, where can I hang th…"

Hands at his collar, the fingertips brushing against the skin of his neck and pulling him down, chapped lips against his demanded his attention and Paul's coat dropped to the floor. More comfortable now, Emma's arms snaked around his neck and he wrapped his at her waist, filled with wonder. She was small in his embrace, warm and perfect. Something in her hair smelled nice, maybe a full day at the coffee shop, maybe something she put in it. He liked it a whole bunch. She kissed him softly at first, as if testing the waters, then poured more of that wildness of hers into it. Her eyes were veiled with contentment when she pulled away slightly to look into his.

"… Wait, what?"

She frowned. He liked the shape of her eyebrows, how pretty her eyes underneath.

"Wait, you didn't want this?"

She pulled from his arms and they fell numbly at his sides. He clenched his fists. Okay. So she had kissed him. One item to scratch from his non-existent bucket list. She perched herself on her kitchen counter and looked at him expectantly.

"No, no, I want this," he said in a hurry. "I definitely want this! I just didn't… didn't think you did."

She cocked her beautiful eyebrows at him. Her legs dangled a little bit in front of her and an obscene vision of them wrapped round his face came to him. He blinked.

"What'd you think drinks upstairs meant, Mr…" Her smirk turned pensive. "What's your last name?"

"Matthews." He decided to not admit that the clue had been entirely missed on him. "But, after a first date? I wasn't… I thought you were a bit lukewarm about it all."

"Well, I thought you were hot," she retorted and grinned at her own joke. "C'mere."

She held up an arm, parting her legs for Paul to rest between and Paul did not intend on refusing such an invitation. Only the once and already he had determined that Emma was the best kisser in the entire world. Her legs wrapped around his waist, held on snugly, arms leisurely resting on his shoulders as she kissed him like she had never even heard of what performance anxiety was in her entire life. The kiss broke, faces still pressed so close together he felt the warmth of her breath against his lips as she spoke.

"Take me to bed, Mr Strong Guy, I'm all yours," she said sarcastically.

Her hands were a tight clutch at his back, grasping the fabric like she wanted to tear it right off. Paul's heart was starting to race now. It was a good kind of rush, he supposed, the fear of disappointing her far surpassed by the fact that he did, in fact, have even the option of that alternative. He slid his hands down to her butt and found, to his delighted surprise, that he was perfectly capable of carrying her. So much for 32 years of never once working out. No effort and all the payoff. He looked around the messy living room.

"I don't know where your bed is."

Briefly he wondered if the bed was supposed to be in this room, buried somewhere, but Emma pointed to a door right behind him, laughing. The bedroom was in no way tidier but in this instant, Paul couldn’t have paid any notice if he’d tried. The sheets were changed, though. He noticed that. He dropped her on the bed, trying to be mindful of her comfort but Emma pulled him over her with a sharp tug and the kiss was mingled with breathless laughter as they landed together, half making out, half gazing at one another between kisses. She palmed his biceps through his shirt and made him shrug it off, rewarded by the wickedest grin.

"You’re packing, mister," she said teasingly.

He knew for sure that was a lie, but a flirtatious untruth was so much better than any reality of his scrawny arms.

"Thanks," he said. "You too."

The way her grin widened made his stomach all light and fluttering. She showed off an arm, bulking it up for his pleasure.

"Right? I do krav maga every couple weeks, a friend lets me use her pass."

Biting her lip again, she added.

"You should see my abs, I’m almost proud of those."

He cocked an eyebrow.

"Oh yeah?"

She pulled his hand down to her belly and helped him uncover it, the perfect shape of it, more than a faint outline of the promised abs as she flexed them. Paul passed his fingertips across. At his ears, his heart was beating painfully loud. He smiled at her as she unflexed and lay there relaxed and content. Her hair was sprawled around her face on the clean white sheets, a gorgeous fuzzy cloud.

"Very impressive," he said.

He pushed up the fabric of her shirt with hesitant fingers and her much less hesitant help. Her own hand unclasping the bra, unbuttoning her jeans before he had a chance to bask in the initial view already. Some hints, he could still guess and he helped her out of those and before he knew it, Emma was lying in her own bed with nothing but her socks on. She toed those off herself.

"I missed gaming night for you," she said. "Do you know how lucky you are?"

Her legs wrapped around his waist and pulled him to her again and Paul’s breath hitched as she wrapped an arm around his shoulders to kiss him much more languidly than before, seductive and tempting.

"Yeah," he breathed out sharp. "Yeah, I’d say I’m lucky."

The other hand was more adventurous and he felt her palm the front of his crotch through his khakis. She tried to unbuckle his belt but Paul took the guilty hand in his and brought it to his lips to kiss her palm. He leaned back a little, kneeling between her legs. The shape of her breasts, the hint of a flush at her cheeks from the excitement, how perfectly perfect the whole of Emma was overwhelming him a little and he gave himself a breath in and out.

"You know, a while ago I’ve read this book," he said.

Her frown was more than a little dubious but she nodded to prompt him on.

"It’s called She Comes First."

He kissed her again, just briefly at her lips, enough that she marked his lips with an almost painful bite, but he had an idea and purpose in mind and traced his route downwards. Her neck, if possible, was just as delicious, a lingering remain of some perfume thrown on earlier in the night. Kisses and caresses lingering at her breasts but soon down her stomach and, laying back more comfortably between her spread legs, kisses around the patch of curly brown hair darker than on her head, kisses between her thighs, kisses in the part of Emma Perkins he had never dared to hope he would ever kiss.

"Ah, fuck," she groaned. "That sounds like a pretty cool book."

He hadn’t done this in a while but nothing in his past could pertain to a night with Emma anyways. The sensation was likely more towards his pleasure than hers, if he could believe it himself. He felt his dick hard and uncomfortable in his briefs but this moment, he thought, had to be about Emma. A caress of his tongue from top to bottom, back up again, stopping leisurely at the clitoris he covered with attention. Emma breathed in sharply and Paul tried to recreate the reaction. And tried and tried and tried till he had Emma moaning for his touch and he closed his eyes to lose himself in it.

"Use your fingers," she said in a soft voice.

Paul obeyed. One finger sliding in and he groaned at how wet, how hot she was around him. Another one, a slow pump in and out, trying to angle himself right, trying to please as best he could.

"Mmh, like that, yeah."

Every second melted into the next and Paul might have stayed there forever if he could. Emma was digging a heel painfully between his shoulders and a hand had caught on his hair − for her comfort or for his guidance, he couldn’t say. He was completely taken by the moment but only, he thought, because Emma took his attentions so well.

"That feels really nice, Paul," she said and he wished he had a recording of the words he might listen for hours on end on lonely days.

"Thanks."

She snorted, but her fingers tightened in his hair with another moan and he was the one who felt like laughing. Strokes of his tongue across her clit, first lightly but heavier, more intent as he found a pace that Emma responded to, and for the first time in ages he was truly proud of himself. His other arm was wrapped around her leg over his shoulder, comfortably holding onto warm bare skin.

"Keep just like that," she muttered, "And don’t stop."

Paul kept everything as it was. If it were up to him, he might have wanted to keep at it for the rest of the night and the weekend and the year. He felt Emma’s hips rocking slightly into the touch of his mouth as her breath got heavier and he wished the moment never ended, forever trapped in the first time he had made Emma come. She did, and splendidly at that, her back arching a little as her fingers clutched his hair much too tight and soft flesh was pulsing around his own, slowly calming down with the pace of her heart, of her breath.

"Come back here," she said, holding up her arms to him to give an embrace Paul readily took.

They kissed with somewhat less haste than before, though this time Paul let Emma’s hand wander all she wanted and, struggling with the belt, she stroked him through the fabric instead. The smile on her was naughty, intoxicating. He helped with the belt and might have lost himself for how eagerly she tugged down the briefs to catch him in her hand. Wet at the tip but stroked down the length, hard and getting harder with every pass of her fingers.

"You got condoms?" She asked.

"Eh…"

He felt stupid for not being prepared, but he would have felt just as dumb for having assumed. Emma squeezed a little to catch his attention better and he let out a faint yelp, but the trick was unnecessary at best, for his whole attention, his mind and heart were already drowning in her.

"How d’you expect to get lucky without condoms, sir, I’m not doing this raw."

"Of-Of course not, I just… erm…"

But she took pity on him. Dropping the touch, she rolled to the side and leaned over as far as her body possibly could to pull open the bottom drawer of her nightstand where she shuffled a few things around before prying from it a row of a few condoms, like a scarf out of a magician’s hat.

"Busy life, huh?" He chuckled awkwardly.

She looked at him funny but there was fondness in those beautiful eyes when she shook her head. She gestured him to drop the pants and Paul obeyed, making haste of everything which he threw haphazardly on the floor − it matched the already existing landscape of the room.

"I haven’t in a long while, actually, so…" She tore one of the condoms from the rest, shoving the others back into the drawer she left unclosed and bit open the wrapper. "I hope it was worth the wait."

He felt almost a foreign observer as he watched her roll the condom down the length of his dick two-handed. The smile she gave him was proud, nearing smug and she lay back comfortably and entwined her legs with his. Paul felt the beat of his heart in every part of his body, head to toes and especially rushing at his dick as he guided himself inside of her. His arms were surprisingly and miraculously holding up as he leaned up on them to look at her and they exchanged satisfied smiles.

"I haven’t in a while either," he admitted.

He pulled out a little, back in again. She was deliciously loose from his previous caresses and he was reaping the reward a second time. He kissed her. Every detail was right, everything was as it should be, as he wished it. The look in her eyes as she gazed up at him, how engaged and entranced. The tousled hair across the pillow that got a little messy every time he leaned down to kiss her and hold her face. Her warm face, the grip of her hands at his biceps, her calves pressed to the back of his thighs. His coffee girl, the silly crush he had caught out of the blue, Emma Perkins who pleased him better the more he knew about her.

"You’re so beautiful."

He touched her face and loved the softness of her skin, learning by heart the line of her jaw, the shape of her lips, the color of her eyes in all their glorious details. If he got a good night out of this, then he would always keep it fresh in his mind. And if he got more… Emma moaned under the thrusts of his hips, rocking back into them, repaying every touch. Her hand on his face, in his hair. Her thumb caught on his lower lip and he kissed the tip of it.

"You’re not so bad yourself either," she said with a smile much more gentle than the tease of her words.

Her legs hooked up higher at his waist and Paul grabbed one to pull in front of him, her foot over his shoulder.

" _Paul_ ," Emma moaned at the deeper angle and Paul was emboldened and thrilled by the sound of his name at her lips.

" _Emma_ ," he replied tentatively, trying out for himself if that suited him and, much more so, if that suited her.

She was responding to every attention, every kiss, every time he pressed himself inside her again. In her arms, Paul felt more alive than ever, like a color he had used to see but had forgotten and now could see nothing else than. She was snug all around him, all smiles and moans and sighs of pleasure, all messy and beautiful. She kissed him sloppy and passionate and relentless.

"Paul," she said and he was drunk on hearing his name from her again and again, "Paul, let me just…"

She pushed slightly on his shoulders just to grant herself enough space to turn around. Paul felt an extra burst inside his chest, something delirious with desire poking at his heart. He grabbed her by the hips and pushed in again from behind. She groaned, buried her face on the pillow comfortably.

"Ah, fuck, that feels good," she said and whimpered as he began to thrust again at a steadier rhythm now, knelt between her spread legs. "I wanted to finish like this."

She reached behind to pull his hand between her legs and Paul’s fingers caught around her clit to help her finish all the better.

"Fuuuuuuck…"

He was getting closer as well and gave every last bit of him to her before he was gone. Almost all the way out, then back in again in one smooth slide, several times over that had Emma moaning out so shamelessly, so freely. Her clit was swollen and hot, oversensitive from before, he was sure, but still she begged for the caress and Paul circled around it with slick fingers that butted against his dick with every deep thrust.

"I’m gonna…"

The end of the sentence, though predictable, was lost in a muffled groan and Paul felt her come even through the condom. He touched her till she pushed off his fingers and then allowed himself a minute or two, some last moment of sex with Emma Perkins before he could take it no longer and he came with a panting moan. He pulled out and lay flat next to her, but she rolled off the bed inelegantly before he had even regained his breath.

"I'm gonna go pee, brb."

The door to the bathroom shut tight and Paul could only sit dumbly on the bed. There were tissues on the nightstand and he used those to clean himself up. The condom was tied and dropped in the waste basket by her desk. He noticed again the scatter of clothes across the room… Did she expect him to stay? Or was this the one and final conclusion to their one date, never to be brought up again and swallowed by the great wheel of time forever? He considered getting dressed to save her the pain of having to tell him to but somehow, past putting his briefs back on, the hesitation stopped him and he sat there with the bundle of his clothes in his lap. Emma was half untamed and he never quite knew what to expect from her.

The door to the bathroom opened again to an Emma as naked as when she had entered it. Paul blinked, smiled. It wasn't polite to stare. He stared anyways. Emma smiled back. She picked up the shirt from his arms and put it on. It fell down to her knees, an even prettier alternative than her wearing nothing at all. Paul had not thought that was possible, but Emma was made of impossible stuff.

"That's mine now," she declared.

She took the rest of his clothes and threw them back to the ground and Paul supposed he had his answer.

"You're a cuddler, right?"

She crawled across from him on all four to put herself to bed on the other side, fell flat on the mattress with the cover bunched around her like a lump and stayed that way.

"Why would you say that?"

She huffed in silent laughter. Her hand reached out of the lump and felt around.

"Okay, guess the pillow will do." Then, to herself, "Where the fuck did it go?"

Paul grabbed the pillow fallen off the bed after they'd had sex (they hadn't made love, he knew, but he couldn't consider it just a fuck either).

" _That_ 's mine now," he said, placing it under his head. "And I _am_ a cuddler."

He opened his arms to her and, her face into his neck, the weight of her body half on him, he did not think he had ever been this happy. Or really ever especially happy. Her fingers were tracing the line of his shoulder gently, idly.

"What's your cologne?" She asked.

"Oh, erm, just some Old Spice."

She nuzzled closer into his neck, breathing him in.

"Smells nice."

She had nothing more to say, but made herself so very comfortable in his embrace that she said it all the same. Paul did not dare hold her too tight. Dreams were fragile but he would not break this one, not if he could do a thing about it. Her hair was soft to the touch, little curls slipping through his fingers, longer than he had expected. He smiled as dumbly and widely as he wished, knowing he was unobserved. For a long moment, nothing was added and he was starting to doze off when Emma leaned up on an elbow (which jabbed painfully into his collarbone but he said nothing) to look at him. She kissed his cheek.

"You're free on Monday?"

"Uh huh."

He didn't even have to check, of course. Not just because nothing else was ever really happening in his life, but because for Emma, he would clear up all the free time he needed.

"There's that new zombie thing movie that just came out, you wanna go check it out?"

"I'd love that."

She smiled. For a few seconds it seemed like she wanted to say something, but eventually she snuggled into his shoulder again comfortably. Her fingers tapped softly against his skin.

"You wanted to stay the night, right?"

Paul had not had plans to be here in the first place, but he nodded regardless.

"If you'd like that."

She yawned and gave a nod too.

"Yeah, I could live with it."

He never realized falling asleep, which he supposed was how falling asleep worked. Everything was relaxed and tender. He spent the best night of his life snuggled here with Emma in his arms. A dreamless quiet few hours of peace, content for once in his life.

The next morning, Paul was irreverently shook awake. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut − though he was even less of a night owl, he was not much of a morning person either − but fingers combing through his hair, a certain touch that was still very fresh and recent in his memory… Emma's face was just a little above his. She was smiling, but looked very close to not smiling at all.

"I have to go to work," she said and Paul realized she was fully dressed, that cute uniform of hers he had thought about so many times in the past few weeks. "So get your ass out of bed, please."

Paul hurried to get dressed and out of her apartment for fear of angering her − though she gave him a kiss on his way out that indicated quite otherwise.

He thought of her all day, tried as he might to have slightly more chill than that and keep himself busy and failing miserably. He thought of her the next day, and then at work that Monday morning, too, especially after having gotten a text from her just before work that kept her even more in his thoughts.

"Hey, Paul," Ted asked, his head popping through the door of the office Paul shared with Bill and Charlotte. "Trip to Beanie’s?"

Paul hesitated. He had intended a quick trip at some point during the day. The plan had not at all included Ted. He supposed that getting lucky on Friday had unfortunately not set a new trend on the otherwise direction of his life. Ted and him walked to Beanie’s with one-sided conversation.

Emma was serving some kid before them and gave them a polite customer smile as she took their order. Paul tipped another fiver when she had her back turned. Ted snorted at him.

"Four twenty-five," she told Ted and Ted told her to keep the change on a bill of five.

She sighed but dropped the three quarters in the tip jar. She handed Paul his coffee.

"Three for you," she said. "Tonight at seven, alright? My place again."

She winked before moving onto the next person in line and leaving Paul to his asshole colleague shaped fate. Ted pestered him the entire way back to work. Paul fought and resisted, but eventually took his well-deserved high five.


End file.
